


And last of all, to love.

by firetoflame



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Beginnings, F/M, First Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-21
Updated: 2016-11-21
Packaged: 2018-09-01 06:37:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8613106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/firetoflame/pseuds/firetoflame
Summary: The love story of Andromeda Black and Ted Tonks begins like all hidden things, between the shadows and inside the soul. Fighting against a lifetime of prejudices and even the magical blood that runs in her veins, Andromeda finds that love can bloom from the darkest of places.





	

“Why are you being so nice to me?” she demands with misplaced anger. She’s confused by him. Confunded really. Because she’s been an utter snob. Filthy and wretched and completely horrid to him for years when he’s done nothing to deserve it, nothing but carry the blood of a Muggle within his magical veins. And here he was, helping her off the ground, pulling her behind the greenhouses, away from the prying eyes of their schoolmates. He should look at her with cruel satisfaction. This is exactly the kind of thing she deserves. “You don’t have to be,” she amends when he leads her inside the greenhouses, propping her up on a set of stacked crates. He offers her a tiny smile in answer but she continues, “I’ve been terrible to you.”

He chuckles, then his smile trims, turning up a shoulder. “We are products of the world in which we grew up,” he says quietly, brushing his fingers along her bruised wrist. Along the marks put there by people who claim to be her friends. “You, a wealthy aristocrat. Born into magic. Born under a name that is just about magical royalty. Pure and untainted. Taught to fear those beneath you. Taught to hate them.” He slides his hand slowly along hers, tracing the veins of blue and green beneath her pale skin. “And then there’s me, a mediocre Muggle boy with a penchant for spontaneously lighting things on fire.” He laughs, warm eyes finding hers. “Turns out I’m not crazy after all, just magic. Maybe not the same magic as what runs in your veins, but magic nonetheless. Magic enough to get me here. Magic enough to do this.” He pulls his palm against hers and the scrapes tingle into fresh pink skin, healed and pain free. He cradles her palm between his, inspecting his work with soft fingers. “You may think my magic beneath yours, may think me less, but,” he sighs, tipping his head to regard their clasped hands, “we don’t look much different to me. Don’t feel much different either.”

Andromeda furrows her brow, caught off guard by the simple truths. The softness with which he speaks. The way he holds her. Like she is something gentle and precious. To be revered and guarded. She’s never been held or spoken to like that before. The Black’s are a straight and narrow, hard-edged and gritty kind of family. There is no room for softness. Only expectation. Only honour.

She looks away from him then because he’s just watching her. Simply following the contours of her face, eyes open and inquisitive. He has blue eyes like the sea after a storm. Fresh and new and alive. She likes them. The Black’s are known for their striking features. Dark hair and even darker eyes. It’s what she’s expected to marry in to. A pure blood with dark, striking features. To make more strong jawed, high-cheek boned pure-bloods. But Ted is striking in his own right. Honey blond hair that catches the fading light through the greenhouse roof. Round cheeks that curve under a wide, strong jaw and chin. A smile that splits his face handsomely, but not with a bitterness she’s come to see in her family. It’s happier.

He pulls her face back to his, inspecting her cheeks and forehead, giving her ample opportunity to continue her own inspection.

There’s a haze of freckles across the bridge of his nose and flecks of gold at the edges of his blue eyes. He’s beautiful the way a sunrise is beautiful. Breathtaking and steady.

He feels like the light where she is dark. She is the fading moon and twisting stars; stories of old that give her that namesake. Darkness and lies forged in the tiered rows of the constellations. Ted is none of these things. Nor will he ever be. And it’s completely refreshing.

He raises a hand while she’s watching him and presses his fingertips against her cheek. She inhales sharply when he finds a bruise.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers.

“It wasn’t your fault,” she says.

“I’m still sorry you’re hurt.”

“It’s no less than I deserve.”

“No one deserves to be treated that way.”

She lets a breath huff from her nose. It’s not exactly angry anymore, just accepting. “It’s how we Slytherin's treat the rest of you. Turnabout is fair play as they say.”

“You Slytherins can be a piece of work. But from what I’ve seen, you tend to make yourself scarce when the rest of them start drama between the houses. Why?”

“I think the way I was taught to. That doesn’t mean it’s my place to deliberately seek out people to make a mockery of them. To hurt them. But I am no Gryffindor, obviously, so I find it easier to just disappear when the others get rowdy and obnoxious. Out of sight, out of mind so to say. Except . . . ” she begins, eyes fluttering towards the ground, “when it comes to you.”

He watches her for a long moment, long enough that she can see the bob of his throat when he whispers, “Why?”

She swallows hard and the lump gets caught in her throat. “I’m sorry,” she says instead of answering him. “I’ve been terrible to you.”

Ted tips his head, catching her face between his hands enough to make her look at him. “For a while I thought it might be because you liked me?”

She scrunches up her brow and turns away. “Of course I don’t like you. How could I?”

“Well, I am rather likeable, or so I’ve been told. And you did seem to make quite a fuss of hating me. Rather publicly if I recall.”

“And you were always so upstanding,” Andromeda says. “You never even tried to retaliate.”

“If we’re being completely honest,” Ted says, “hissing Mudblood at me doesn’t have quite the effect that you pure-blood’s think it does. The meaning is kind of lost on you when you grow up in the Muggle world. Might as well be calling me a boring tosser. And I would never retaliate, not when I fancied you so.”

“You fancied me?” she says, failing to hide the surprise in her voice.

“Guess I should amend that to fancy. As in, I still do. And perhaps it makes me desperate, but I figured even negative attention from you was better than no attention. At least you knew who I was.”

“A little bit of Gryffindor bravery in you tonight? Or did you just swallow a bottle of Veritaserum?”

“Definitely not the last one, unless someone’s spiking the pumpkin juice again.”

She laughs, despite herself.

Ted sighs. “Guess I just figured there’s nothing left to lose. Term’s almost over. Plus I hated seeing you cry. If I could take your mind off it, even if it was just to mull about how much you hate me, then it was worth it.” He let’s that linger for a moment. “But you don’t hate me, do you, Andromeda?”

She shakes her head at him. He deserves the truth from her, especially after everything. But she . . . . she can’t. It would destroy her. “Please don’t ask that of me.”

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t want to lie to you.”

“You don’t have to protect me.”

“I have to protect myself,” she whispers.

“From the way you feel?”

“Yes.” She pulls her lip between her teeth. “No more, Ted. Please.”

“Let’s get you cleaned up then,” he says, nodding to the bruises on her face. “Don’t want Slughorn asking questions.”

She agrees with a nod.

He procures a bottle of bruise ointment from a shelf behind her (the venomous tentacula can be a rowdy bunch around the middle of the month) and begins soaking a cloth into the sour smelling dye.

“I didn’t know you were so adept at healing,” she says.

“That’s the thing about us Hufflepuff’s,” he says, dabbing gently at the space above her eye with the soaked cloth of Brutus’ Best Bruise Healer. “We’re not much good at anything. But,” his lips quirk into a smile, “we’re a little bit good at everything.”

And if that wasn’t the most thoughtful description of a Hufflepuff Andromeda had ever heard. And it was completely true. Ted was a fair flyer, not good enough to play Seeker or Chaser, but he could handle a bat well enough to beat for their Quidditch team. He wasn’t the best at spells but his effort made him good. He didn’t know the most about potions or defence against the dark arts or even transfiguration, but his dedication pushed him through at OWL level. He was friendly and jovial and a favorite among the teachers. He earned his house more points than he lost and was fit enough to be made a prefect the same as her. Maybe Ted wasn’t exactly Slytherin material, but he was turning out to be a good man. Maybe Andromeda didn’t want a Slytherin boy the way her parents thought.

“There,” Ted says, smiling easily. “Good as new.”

She nods and reaches out to squeeze his hand where it rests on her thigh, cloth still clutched between his fingers.

“Careful,” he teases. “People might see and forget that you hate me.”

“I don’t hate you,” she admits, though it’s so quiet she could say that he could have simply misheard.

“Well you certainly don’t like me,” he amends. “We’ve established that.”

“I _can’t_ like you. It is not permitted,” she says and all too soon she knows she’s said too much.

His brow furrows, not in confusion, but in acquiescence. “Because of my blood.”

“Because of your blood,” she agrees.

“But that isn’t to say that if perhaps, my blood was not an issue, that you would like me?”

“But it _is_ an issue.”

“But if it wasn’t? Just say?”

“Ted--”

“Just humor me, Andromeda. Just this once.”

She knows her mouth has gone dry when she darts her tongue out to lick at her cracked lips. “I used to look at you, you know? In fourth year. Across the Great Hall. Some of the other Slytherins noticed. Some teased. Others made nasty comments. Threats . . . So I said terrible things about you and your blood. Things I had never brought myself to say before, despite what my family thinks.” She chuckles, but the humour is lost, withering on her tongue. “I shunned you to save myself the humiliation of admitting that I had started to fancy the boy across the hall. The one with a yellow tie and patched robes.”

“Do you still fancy me?” Ted asks.

“What does it matter now? I’ve treated you terribly.”

“Because you were frightened.”

“That’s no excuse.”

“Maybe not, but fear gives us reason for most things. I may not have always liked it, but I understand, Andromeda.” He catches her face as she tries to turn away, a tear slipping over her cheek. “I do.”

“I hated you at the expense of keeping friends that are no kinder to me than any of the people they mistreat. Not one Slytherin came to my aid tonight. Not one has come looking for me. Not even my own sisters.”

“You exist in a world of old prejudices,” he says. “It cannot be an easy terrain to navigate, when everyone around you holds themselves above everyone else. Where can you possibly turn for support?”

“I certainly don’t expect it from you,” Andromeda says. “Not after . . . everything.”

“And what if I give it still? Would you accept? Would it be too much to ask again . . . do you still fancy me?”

She looks into his eyes, swirling and wonderful and offering her that light she’s been so desperate for. “Yes,” she whispers, letting her eyes flutter closed.

“Then let me be the one you turn to.”

“Ted--”

“Please.”

She feels him shift then, his body pressing against hers, his hands falling to her waist. He holds her softly, gently, caressing through her robes as he presses his lips to hers. The first touch is shock and thrill, coming up her spine in a rush that spreads into her blood and sends her heart racing faster than anything else she’s ever felt. More sure than any other boy she’s ever kissed.

The kiss is short lived; perhaps he is afraid to push her too far. But Ted smiles as he pulls away. Smiles and watches her like a million candle flames. “Was that . . . okay? I mean, would it be presumptuous of me to want to do that again?”

Andromeda regards him for a long minute. “It wouldn’t be easy,” she says finally. “Not the way it is with others. We would have to be discreet. If my family found out . . . if they knew. They’ll keep me locked up for the summer. Make next year hell for both of us.”

“I never expected this to be easy,” he says. “But surely anything worth having is worth the effort.”

“Are you saying I’m worth the effort?”

“You always have been.”

She brushes her fingers across his lips. “No one’s ever looked at me the way you do, Ted Tonks. And certainly no one’s ever spoken to me the way you do.” She looks at him hard, like she’s trying to peer straight through him. “What do you see in me?”

“A good person,” he says. “One that’s trapped in a world she doesn’t want to be in.”

“How can you know that when I’ve only just figured it out for myself, hmm?”

Ted shrugs, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Like I said. Us Hufflepuff's, we’re good at a little bit of everything.”

He tugs her close then, letting his hands rest against her back, tucking his head over her shoulder. “But I want to learn you. I want to be the best at knowing all of you. What do you say, Andromeda? Will you give me a shot?”

She lets a smile thread across her face. A real one, for the first time in a long time. “If you can forgive me for the way I’ve acted these past few years then surely I can see where this may go.”


End file.
